In the Bedroom
by MandaPanda2
Summary: A couple's bedroom can be a sanctuary from the world, their problems and sometimes, each other.
1. Be My

Disclaimer: All characters (unless otherwise specified) belong to Aaron Spelling, E. Duke Vincent, Gary Tomlin, NBC, et al and are used here strictly for non-profit entertainment purposes.  
Rating: PG 14  
Genre: Drama  
Spoilers: The whole series is fair game.  
Summary: A couple's bedroom can be a sanctuary from the world, their problems and sometimes, each other.  
_A/N: This is a collection of short stories with no particular sequence to the order of the chapters. _

* * *

Chapter 1: "Be My"

It was late when Gregory put his key to the lock and pushed open the door. The lights were off, darkness becoming the quiet oceanfront condominium. The hardwood floor beneath him gave sound to his steps as he walked through the foyer. He deposited his suitcase on the floor, a thump echoing in the empty living room.

His tie gave as he walked down the hall, the material bouncing limply against his shirt. He sighed tiredly, the full schedule of the last four days catching up to him. Back to back depositions in Denver and a delayed return flight left him drained. Exhaustion seeped through his veins and flamed his aching limbs.

The bedroom was cool, quiet as he stepped into it. A shaft of silver moonlight fell in through the window, baptizing the bed. All was not as he expected to find it. He stared down at the bed, shedding the professional skin that was his suit coat as he watched her sleep.

Olivia was curled on her side, her hand tucked beneath her chin. The other hand was stretched out to the emptiness of what was his side of the bed. Her face was relaxed, made still by the peaceful slumber she had surrendered to. He kicked off his shoes as soft breathing parted her lips. He sank into the bed, a loud creak disturbing the silence as the mattress gave beneath him. He grinned devilishly, inching closer to her. Since meeting her, the once sturdy bed just hadn't been the same.

He traced a line up her bare arm, his fingertip gentle against her flesh. She sighed in her sleep and shifted against him. Their faces were inches apart, their chests flush against each other. She opened her eyes slowly, her face tranquil in the pale light. She blinked, stretching against him as a tired smile graced her face. "You're back," she whispered, cupping his face as her lips found his. Soft kisses caressed his mouth and face, welcoming back every inch of him.

His arm rested in the curve of her waist, drawing her closer. "I didn't think you'd be here," he admitted as she kissed her way along his jaw line.

Her chuckle was soft, lost against his mouth as she made her way to his lips again. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Her smile was impossible to miss, infectiously lighting up the dark between them. "It's about time you finally used the key."

She stretched again, her body forming a graceful line for the briefest of moments before she sighed and snuggled against him. The scent of his cologne clung to his starched shirt and she turned her face to his chest, inhaling deeply. "I missed you."

"I wasn't even gone a week."

"Doesn't matter." Olivia looked up solemnly, meeting his eyes. "Did you miss me?"

He brushed aside her hair, her teasing question seductive in the silence. The round peak of her shoulder was bathed in moonlight and his lips were drawn there like moth to flame. She drew in her breath, her hand combing through his hair to cup the back of his head. The expanse of flesh between her shoulder and neck was rediscovered as the lingering traces of her almond soap filled his conscious. She pressed herself closer as he nibbled a path up her neck, a sigh on her lips. "Maybe," he finally answered as his hand fell to the small of her back. "A little."

She cupped his face, her palms warm against his cheeks as she gazed into his eyes. A small smirk was curling the corner of her mouth as her brow arched in a dare. Three nights of phone calls that stretched late into the night had been unable to quench his thirst for her. Her sleepy voice on the other end of the phone was a poor substitute for her warm body draped against his.

"Maybe," she repeated carefully, her face nuzzling against his. "A little."

Three small words that barely skimmed the surface of the truth. And they both knew it.

She wedged her sheet-clad leg between his as he held her closer, the tips of her fingers resting against the flesh of his neck. "What did you do while I was gone?"

Her sigh suggested her boredom and he knew the answer with her having to say it. "Worked some extra shifts," she replied, shaking her head dismissively. "But, I'm off the weekend."

"Really?" he whispered with playful awe. "So am I."

She smiled broadly, reaching for his face excitedly. "You are?" she whispered, placing a series of fluttered kisses on his chin and mouth. He nodded, matching her mouth and tightening his lock around her leg and back. "What should we do with ourselves?"

"Go out on the boat," he suggested in a mutter as her fingers carefully undid the buttons of his shirt. "Drive up to Napa. Stay in bed all weekend."

"Tempting," she giggled, pushing his shirt open. The coarse hair of his chest tickled her bare flesh, bringing a grin to her face. "I don't care what we do," she said, absentmindedly fingering his chest, "so long as we don't have to go to any of your work parties."

Gregory looked down at her, twirling a lock of her hair round his finger. Her hand snaked beneath his shirt, wrapping around to his bare back. "Are they that bad?" he asked softly.

She glanced up, hearing the underlying thread of seriousness in his questions. She shook her head, a bare smile on her lips as she traced the hollow at the base of his throat. "No," she admitted, watching as reassurance flashed across his face. "You always have such a good time, talking about whatever lawyers talk about and I'm left to make small talk with their boring, old wives."

He watched closely as she concluded with a chuckle, "I have no more small talk left in me." He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently as an easy silence unfolded between them. She rested against him, her face and breath grazing his chest. A warm feeling bubbled within him when she squeezed back and kissed the flesh over his heart. He turned his face into her hair as he asked with a hush in his voice, "Be my boring, old wife."

Her eyes opened slowly as the echo of his question lingered over them. "Be my…" she repeated slowly, meeting his dark eyes.

He bit back his laughter, the sight of her bewildered eyes and dropped jaw bringing a grin to his face. "Not that you'll ever be old or boring," he continued, gently pushing her shocked mouth closed. She gave him a weak smile and he cupped her face, fingering the soft flesh of her ear lobe. "Not to me."

Her chest shook against his and his hand fell to rub her back comfortingly. "Just…be my-"

"Yes," she replied softly, silencing the rest of his question when she pressed her finger to his lips. "Yes."


	2. Volatile

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 2: "Volatile"

The door flew open, groaning against the hinges as Olivia stalked into the bedroom. Gregory shook his head as he followed his wife in, pulling back the door enough to see the wall behind it. "You put a hole in the wall," he announced, looking up at her.

She turned to him, her mouth a gaping hole that rivaled the one behind the door. "A hole in the wall?" she asked incredulously. "A hole!"

"Keep your voice down."

"I will not!" she hissed, though her voice indeed dropped several pitches. Her glare crackled across the room, bridging the distance between them. A distance that seemed only to grow with each passing second. She rested her hands on her hips, her elbows jutting to angry points. "I don't care about the bloody wall!"

He closed the door softly, a tacit apology for the way it was violently flung before. "What a surprise," he murmured beneath his own breath. 

"What did you say?"

He sighed, closing his eyes against the door. Flames licked behind his eyelids as tension snapped painfully between his shoulder blades. Her shrill question echoed in the charged silence, reverberating painfully in the bedroom. "Lower your voice," he said softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The children will hear."

Her face melted, giving way to disgust. "The children? The children! They already heard us at the table."

"So let them finish their dinner!" he snapped, swinging around to face her. She flinched, squaring her shoulders. "They deserve that, at the very least."

"Oh," she groaned, narrowing her eyes, "isn't that _wonderful_? I'm the horrible mother that ruins her children's dinner and you get to be the ever concerned father." 

"You don't make it hard."

The crystal swan was flying through the air before he saw it leave her hand. He jumped aside as the hand blown glass exploded against the bedroom door. He looked up at her, his eyes darkening as she crossed her arms against her chest. "Are you insane?"

"Goddamn you!" she snapped, turning away from him.

"He already does. Every miserable day."

"Then why don't you leave!" He froze as her eyes narrowed to slits and the blue of her irises turned to ice. "If you are so miserable, then leave!"

"One of us needs to be a parent to those two children downstairs." 

"And that parent is you? _You_? You're never here!" He turned away, opening the door to leave. Her face hardened as she neared him, her fury increasing. "Perhaps you'll need to tell your little girlfriend that-"

He spun around, lunging for her as his fingers dug into the flesh of her arm. Her face contorted and she winced as he shook her. "Don't," he growled, her face contorting as he shook her.

"Why! You don't think I know where you go at night?" She shook her head, clawing at his hand that was iron around her arm. "And that business trip to Chicago? Ha!"

Her fingernails were sharp talons, raking across the back of his hand. The torn skin curled, thin trails of red in her wake. "Olivia," he said, warning resonating in every syllable. 

"Does she make you feel young?" she interrupted, fighting his grip on her arm. "Does she make you forget everything that's wrong-"

"Enough!" he exploded, pressing against her. She turned her face away as he pushed her against the wall. His fingers molded to her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were dark pits, smoldering with ire. She shrank away, squirming against the wall as he glared at her. "She makes me wonder I don't take the children and leave _you_," he shot back through clenched teeth. 

Her gasp seemed louder, hanging in the brief silence that preceded the slap. He smirked as he stepped back, lightly touching the flaming spot on his cheek. "Wonderful, Olivia," he chuckled as she fled, finding sanctuary on the bed. "Just wonderful."

She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her stinging palm. "I won't let you take my children," she hissed, looking at his reflection in the windowpane. 

"Do you think that any judge in his right mind would let you keep them?" He sighed incredulously and ran his hand through his hair. "You are no mother to them and they would certainly be better off without you."

"Stop," she murmured, looking down at her lap.

"Oh no," he boomed, kneeling on the bed behind her. "You started this. But mark my words, Olivia, _I'm_ going to finish it. You will _never_ have the children." She jumped up, walking towards the bathroom. He followed, grabbing her shoulder and forcing her around. "Do you think I would leave them with you? You can barely take care of yourself!"

She bit the corner of her lip, her eyes resting on the pulsing vein of his neck as his words assaulted her. It throbbed angrily, matching the earthquake that was bisecting her skull. "Gregory, stop," she pled, a whisper against dry lips.

"Rose has been more of a mother to Caitlin and Sean these last few months than you have in the last five years." His voice shook, trembling with anger as he watched her raise her hands over her ears. Blind fury coursed through his veins and sheer adrenaline pushed him on. "What kind of mother are you?" he exploded, barely noticing the way she trembled beneath his grip. "You run all over town, drinking everything in sight until you can't stand on your own feet. You-"

"Stop."

"-stay out all night-"

"Stop."

"-and sleep all day. You jump into bed-"

"Stop."

"-with any man that so much as smiles at you. You're not a mother,-"

"Gregory,_please_!"

"-you're a whore!"

"STOP!" she screamed, looking up at him. Anguish clouded her blue eyes as she pressed her hands into her ears. "Stop! Stop! Stop!"

"What for!"

Quiet sobbing was the only reply that came to them. They looked at the open doorway, their heads turning in sync. Sean's eyes were bright, reflecting the tears that pooled in them as he hid behind his older sister. Caitlin's chin quivered as she gazed in silence at her parents. 

Gregory moved quickly away from Olivia, who slowly lowered her hands. His chest shook as he gained a hand over his unruly breathing. She crossed her arms over her chest as her pained eyes flickered over the twin tear stained faces. She turned to her husband, sweeping over his clenched jaw as his throat worked. He met her gaze for the briefest of moments, watching as she backed away. Her body trembled as she covered her cheeks and gazed down at the floor. He sighed dismissively, nearing the children. She was in no condition to comfort them. "It's alright," he said softly, picking Sean up as he led Caitlin out of the room. "Everything's alright."

Their footsteps receded down the hall as Olivia's shaky breathing filled the loneliness of the bedroom. Her vision swam, spiraling into blurry chaos as she leaned against the wall. His tirade echoed in her ears, each word twisting further and deeper into the very heart of her. Breath died in her throat as walked slowly to her closet, digging through the layers of clothes. From the pocket of her trench, she pulled a silver flask. It was cool in her hand, glowing as it caught the dim overhead light. She unscrewed the cap, raising the opening to her mouth. 

Her sob was drowned out as the first taste of vodka passed her lips. She gulped hungrily, her eyes stinging as hot tears welled. The liquor burned her throat and she coughed, gasping as she leaned into the clothes, wrapping her arms around them. She sobbed into them, seeking a solace that would never come. 


	3. Dreams

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 3: "Dreams"

"Well, I think that's everything."

Olivia hung the last hanger on the rod and turned away from the closet. To call it a closet was generous. It more resembled a shallow indent that had been cut into the wall. She had watched her daughter when they first arrived, looking from the mountain of luggage to the clearly insufficient closet space. Yet Caitlin had been fine with it. She was enchanted by everything in the tiny dormitory room, from the barely there closet to her roommate to the Spartan bed she would be sleeping in for the next year.

She sighed, pulling the piece of gauzy material across the face of the closet space. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Her daughter's blond head bobbed as Gregory cleared his throat and said, "We can take you to the bookstore and get your books for class."

Caitlin smiled, letting him down gently as she shook her head. "No thanks, Daddy. Paige and I are going to get them tomorrow."

She watched Gregory shove his hands in his pockets and rock back on his heels. A "no" from anyone else would have sent him into a rage. But for that one word to fall from his only daughter's rosebud mouth was an instant end to whatever point he was trying to make. For her, he could stop.

Their daughter crossed the small floor space, reaching for her father. "Don't pout, Daddy," she giggled, throwing her arms around him.

He squeezed her tight, closing his eyes. "I'm not pouting."

Olivia flattened against the wall, willing herself into the cement. The spotlight that shone so brightly on the three of them had shifted, turning to the two of them. She bit the corner of her lip as she twisted her hands together. She had worn the cloak of the proverbial third wheel for so long that she slipped into it like second nature.

Caitlin looked up, smiling at her father as she pulled back slightly. "Ok," she said with a small wink. "It's going to be ok, you know? UCLA is so close. I can be home in less than an hour." She reached for his hand as he nodded slowly. "And I probably will be home a lot because the cafeteria food was totally gross when we had it at orientation."

Gregory wrinkled his face, but allowed himself a tiny chuckle. "Yes, it was." He sighed, brushing a lock of golden hair behind her ear. "Just…call."

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, dissolving into laughter. "Of course, I will. I'll probably call so much you'll be sick of me."

"That'll never happen," he replied quietly, his voice dropping.

Her blue eyes softened and she reached for his hand. "I'll be fine." Threads of reassurance bloomed in her words as she hugged him again.

"I know."

"And I'll be home for the weekend before you know it."

Olivia looked down, gazing at the floor as Gregory's stilted sigh filled the silence. His sadness was palpable, growing in the tiny room until you could reach out and touch it. She crossed her arms, placing her hand over her heart as he kissed their daughter's cheek. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the safety of darkness as their daughter murmured, "I love you, Daddy."

His reply was hushed, barely audible as he held her close. Olivia's chest tightened as she opened her eyes slowly. He cupped her face, his lips resting against her forehead. "I love you too, Princess."

Her heart fell as she watched him step away, his hands falling back into his pockets. It was the first time he had pulled back first. He had never wanted to let her go. She frowned at the way he shifted from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable. She moved forward, her arm extended. She touched his arm lightly as she said softly, "Gregory. I think we've forgotten one of Caity's boxes in the car." He turned to her slowly, meeting her eyes. "Can you get it for me, please?"

Her eyebrow arched gently as he nodded. He turned back to their daughter, flashing her a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back," he promised.

Caitlin nodded, glancing at her mother as he left. "Was there really a box?" Her mother shook her head and she frowned, watching her father retreat down the hall. "Is he going to be alright?"

Olivia glanced through the doorway that her husband disappeared through. "I think so. You know this is hard for him."

"I know." A bright smile flashed across her face, lighting her eyes to a brilliant luster of azure. "And I'm sorry about that, but I'm just _so_ excited!"

She smiled, sitting her handbag on the tall chest of drawers. "Yes, I can tell."

The young girl blushed, her grin growing bashful. "It's that obvious?"

"A little," Olivia admitted, reaching over to smooth a wrinkle in the bedspread. The vertical blinds were open, filling the room with shafts of golden light. "But there's nothing wrong with that."

She turned back as Caitlin sank into the mattress, hugging the bear that had been her companion since birth to her chest. "I haven't seen that in awhile," Olivia said gently, sitting next to her daughter on the bed.

"Yeah," she chuckled, blushing bashfully as she shrugged her shoulders. "I just thought-"

Olivia smiled, floating away as she watched her daughter chatter earnestly. She had always been bubbly, even as a baby. The first time she has smiled at them was like being caught in the grace of the rising sun. Her giggle was lyrical bells throughout the house, full of joy and serenity. Just when had her beautiful blonde cherub grown into the young woman sitting before her? Looking back, the last seventeen years were only a brief moment.

"Mom?"

She snapped forward, focusing on the quizzical face before her. Caitlin inched closer to her, the fuzzy bear falling from her arms. "Where are you? You're a million miles away."

With an apologetic smile, Olivia sighed, covering her daughter's hand with her own. "Oh, I was just thinking."

"What about?"

"You."

Caitlin grinned, her blue eyes rolling in mock embarrassment. She shook her head as she squeezed the bear's furry middle. "Not you too," she giggled. "It's bad enough that Daddy still sees me as a four year old in pigtails, but-"

"You don't think I do as well?" she asked softly, meeting her eyes.

"I don't know," she replied, shrugging her shoulders as she pulled back.

Olivia nodded, recognizing the distance threaded in her daughter's words. She saw her daughter watching her, trying to gauge her mood and the direction of the conversation. She frowned, realizing she hadn't made it easy for Caitlin. She had been forced to grow up, far too quickly. She reached out, tentatively. Her fingers grazed her daughter's head, brushing back her hair. "I'm very proud of you," she whispered, her hand dropping to cup her daughter's cheek.

"Mom?"

She hushed her, smiling gently as she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. She breathed deep, taking in her daughter's fresh happiness and holding it close to her heart. Her eyes opened slowly, gazing into her child's eyes, a mirror of her own. A symphony of words rose in her throat, dancing on her lips. Year's worth of apologies, missed opportunities and forgotten joy. It was too late for that now. Her lips parted, her breath catching as she finally whispered, "Just…be happy."

Caitlin looked up, confusion swirling in her sapphire eyes. "Mom- what-"

She shook her head, forcing a reassuring chuckle. "Nothing," she sighed, reaching for and squeezing her daughter's hand. "Absolutely nothing."

"No," Caitlin said, sitting up. "Go on."

"Caitlin! There's a barbeque on the quad! Come on!"

Olivia looked up as her daughter's new roommate burst into the room, her red hair blazing. "Oh!" Paige gasped, covering her mouth. "I'm interrupting! I'm so sorry! I-"

"It's fine," Olivia said, standing from the bed. "I was just leaving."

"Mom?"

She turned back to Caitlin as Paige brushed past them to her side of the shoebox. "It's fine," she whispered, wrapping her arms around her daughter. She sighed, rubbing her back tenderly. "I just want so much for you to be happy."

"I am, Mom," she whispered back, squeezing her mother's slender frame.

"Good." She stepped back, gripping Caitlin's hands like a lifeline. "I'll leave now. Let you get ready."

Caitlin stepped back, watching her mother fish a pair of dark sunglasses out of her bag. She winced reflexively, the sight of her mother in sunglasses indoors meant only one thing. But this was different. "I'll call," she promised.

"I know you will." She patted her cheek, swallowing past the painful rock in her throat. "You're a good girl, Caitlin." Her eyes shone, her vision swimming and she quickly slipped the glasses onto her face. "I love you," she whispered quickly, enveloping Caitlin in one last hug.

"I love you too, Mom."

"Come on, Caitlin!" Paige grabbed Caitlin's hand and began pulling her out. "I need to find that cute guy I met at orientation."

Olivia stepped back, forcing her arms down. Her heart throbbed in her chest as she reached for her handbag, her eyes brimming. Caitlin looked back, her eyes shiny and she quickly said, "You- have fun at your barbeque. Go. I'll lock the door when I leave."

"Ok." Caitlin leaned forward and placed one last kiss on her mother's cheek. "Bye, Mommy." She waved, turning quickly as she left the small room.

Olivia sighed, slumping against the worn dresser. The walls hummed, filled with the sounds of move-in day. Frazzled parents and energetic freshmen navigated boxes and suitcases down the too tight hall. Music and laughter blared from every room and she could hear the distant sound of two father's fighting over the elevator.

What had she been thinking? She shook her head and pushed the dark glasses aside to wipe her eyes. There was no way to give words to the feelings rushing through her. No way for Caitlin to understand. She shivered, her arms full as she remembered the first time the nurse's placed her in her arms. Caitlin was wrapped tight in blankets, a snug pink hat on her head to denote her sex. When she was placed in her arms, her eyes opened and she blinked sleepily at her mother.

In that moment, a multitude of hope rushed through Olivia. She had cried then, snuggling the newborn to her chest as she bestowed all her dreams for her new daughter. How she wanted to shower her daughter with love. How she wanted to her to want for nothing. How she wanted her to realize her dreams, the way she herself had. How she wanted her to have everything, the world at her fingertips.

Her arms were empty, the woman of yesterday now the woman in the third floor dormitory room. And she was full of regret. Her daughter was the woman she always hoped her to be, while she has scarcely been the mother she wanted to be. Caitlin couldn't understand that kind of pain. That kind of self-loathing.

She sighed, sniffling as Gregory came back into the room. His hands were deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched as he stared at something of interest on the ground. Did he have regrets? She's sure of it.

Gregory leaned against the dresser, their shoulders touching. "Caity alright?" he asked.

She nodded, folding her arms across her chest. "She's gone to a barbeque."

He nodded, glaring once around the room before he looked back at her. "There was no box," he said softly.

An amused smile curled her lips as she glanced sideways at him. "You knew that before you left though."

"I did." He exhaled deeply, resigned. "She's all grown up."

Her throat tightened as she nodded, turning into him instinctively. His arm went around her, holding her close as a sob rose in her throat. She buried her face in his chest, feeling the shudder that went through him.

Regrets weren't the only thing they shared.


	4. Stag, Meet Hen

**A/N: This chapter is ****RATED ADULT ****for sexual content.**

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 4: "Stag, Meet Hen"

Gregory couldn't sleep.

He rolled over, kicking back the covers as he reached for the bedside light. He sat up and punched the feather pillow into a round lump before he leaned back against it. The lamp was a soft glow that lit up the far corners of the room, chasing the shadows back to the dark recesses they crawled from. Tasteful prints hung on the wall, cheerful scenes of overflowing gardens and a tranquil shoreline. He shrugged, wiping the exhaustion from his face as he stood. He had been in this room for days and he couldn't wait to leave it.

The wood floor creaked beneath his feet as he walked to the window, pushing it open as he gazed out into the night. Dark clouds were abundant, obscuring the star-filled sky. A gentle breeze stirred the trees, bringing the distant scent of heather to his second floor window. He leaned against the window with a sigh, counting the hours until noon. It was an eternity. His eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, the fragrant breeze kissing his bare chest.

"You're awake!" a voice whispered loudly.

He looked down into the dark garden, scanning the ground. The exclamation seemingly came from the night, darkness the only sight he found. Overhead, a cloud passed and a bright beam of moonlight shone down. "Well, hello," he said.

Olivia grinned up at him, her long hair dancing on the breeze. "Fancy a visit?" When he nodded, she bent and slipped the strappy sandals from her feet. He leaned over and rested against the sill, watching in amusement as she reached for the trellis. She quickly climbed the wood lattice, brushing the thick vines aside. He shook his head, chuckling under his breath as she neared the window. She would never cease to amaze him.

He stood up as their eyes met and she swung her legs over as she climbed in, dropping her shoes and reaching for him. Her hands were cool against his chest as her legs went around his waist. Hungry lips that tasted faintly like whisky met his, ravenous as her arms wrapped around his neck. Forever was a possibility as he drew her close, hugging her against him as his tongue probed the warmth of her mouth.

She sighed against him, breath against breath as her legs tightened. His groan died against her mouth, full of unspoken wanting. She giggled, running her fingers through his thick hair. "I'm getting married tomorrow," she whispered, cupping his head as his lips found the sweet spot of her neck.

He looked up when she shivered against him, one eyebrow arched in surprise. "Isn't that interesting," he said softly as his hands slid under the hem of her dress. "So am I."

Her legs held him in place, sharing warmth as their chests pressed flush together. "Hmm," she sighed, nibbling her way from the base of his shoulder up his throat. "Anyone I know?"

He tilted his head in thought as her question lingered over them. "Maybe," he admitted quietly as her fingertips trailed down his chest. "She's a crazy English girl that likes to climb barefoot into men's bedrooms. Sound familiar?"

She shrugged, her fingers brushing the waist of his pajama pants. "She sounds like the type of girl my fiancé would like."

"Is that so?" He leaned back to her throat, taking in the faint scent of floral blossoms. The quiet night swallowed her giggle as his lips grazed the flesh of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her, the taste of her spurring him on, as did the graceful way her dress slipped from her shoulders. Her skin glowed in the moonlight and her eyes were bright, bottomless and eternal. "And where is he?"

Olivia sighed, husky in the night. "Oh, you know…" His fingers ran slowly over her bare shoulders, tracing a delicate line from her shoulder to the swell of her breast. Her gasp was devoured by his mouth, as if he had to possess every last drop of her.

"Enlighten me," he whispered against her mouth, her legs like iron around his waist.

"His best man and my cousins took him out." Her fingernails raked through his chest hair, sending a shiver down his spine as her arms went around him. "His stag party."

His chuckle was lost to her lips as she nibbled a line from his ear to his mouth. Wanting echoed in her gasp as he squeezed her rear. "Are you worried?"

Her brow arched as she glanced up, her eyes flashing in the darkness. "Worried? About him?" Her voice was low, teasing as their chests pressed together. "Maybe he should be worried about _me_."

Gregory looked up slowly, her lips full and moist. He ran the tip of his finger across her lips, teasing as a cool breeze drifted through the window. "Worried about you?" he repeated as she gazed back at him. "Why would he be worried about you?"

She leaned against him, surrendering to his strong embrace as her feet dug into the small of his back. "A girl could get into a lot of trouble." She peaked up at him, her eyes wide and bashful. "Her last night as a single girl."

"Ah," he sighed, his hand traversing the smooth flesh between her shoulders and wrists. He grasped her hands, raising them to his lips. "You think temptation got the best of my girl?"

Olivia smirked as his thumb brushed her diamond, the point sentimentally looking in to her heart. "Your girl," she cooed, cupping his face in her hands as she placed the deepest of kisses on his lips. Her heart passed between them, rushing toward him as his arms tightened around her.

Outside, the wind rushed through the trees, echoing with distant laughter from the village center. He tugged at the clip, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Time stood between them, a glorious shining moment as he toyed with the zipper of her dress. She giggled against his lips, pulling away long enough to whisper, "Maybe I should be worried about him…and his stag party."

The zipper hummed as he pulled it down, spreading apart the silky fabric. "Maybe," he agreed, his lips brushing her ear. She giggled, writhing against him as her head fell back. Her neck was a tempting arch of soft flesh and he lowered his head to it. "It was some party," he mumbled against her throat.

Her hair danced on the breeze as she looked up, her eyes bright. She smirked, the tip of her finger running down his chest. "Were there _women_ at your party?" she asked slyly.

Gregory shrugged mysteriously, cupping her shoulders. "Maybe."

Her hands slipped beneath the waist of his pants, reaching around to cup his rear, "Were they pretty?"

He slid the thin straps of her dress down, pushing them along her arms. "Maybe," he repeated quietly, watching as the bodice slipped away from her chest. His lips parted, dry as the rose colored silk settled in folds around her waist.

She pulled him closer, relishing the sensation of their bare chests pressed together. With the slightest of giggles and the gentlest of squeezes, she said, "But now you're here…with me."

"With you."

His mouth was close to hers. Dangerously close. With a hunger that only the famished possess, he conquered her mouth and crushed her to him. He swallowed her sigh, pulling her into his arms as her legs tightened around his waist. Their time at the window was but a distant memory as he carried her over to the bed. She gasped, their mouths bruised as they shared air. His hand burned a trail of fire down her side, from the underside of her breast to her hip. She shivered against him, kneeling on the mattress as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her dress fell away from her.

A groan escaped his mouth as her hands toyed with the hem of his pants before pushing them down. They fell back, the mattress dipping to receive them as he tossed her dress aside. Her arms went around his waist, drawing him close. His weight was glorious against her and she looked up as he brushed a lock of hair away from her face. She shifted beneath him, relishing in the undivided attention he lavished on her. "We're cursing ourselves," she murmured, his lips dipping into the hollow of her throat.

"Is that so?" he asked, her lips quivering as the tip of his finger toyed with her breast. She gasped, a wave of scorching heat coursing through her. Her mind spun, consumed by a weightless fog as his fingers worked. She managed a nod, a guttural moan escaping her lips as she bucked her hips. He chuckled softly as he cupped her breast, squeezing gently. "Hmm?" he whispered, the pad of his thumb tracing a circle around her sensitive nipple.

Her mouth opened and she licked her dry lips, surrendering to his touch. "I-" she gasped, throwing her arms back as her back arched. "I-"

"Oh, I see," he teased, his voice low as his finger purposefully teased her as he lowered his mouth to her breast. "You're distracted."

Pounding at the door was his answer and their eyes locked for a long moment. Olivia's blue eyes smoldered, her frustrated groan filling the charged silence. "_Greg_!" they heard someone call, the Texas drawl unmistakable.

"Don't," she gasped, locking her legs around his to keep him in place.

"He'll never go away otherwise," he grunted, wrenching away from her vise-like grip. He turned away from the bed as she rolled onto her stomach, screaming in frustration into the mattress. The ugly feeling of falling from the cusp of glory consumed him and he blindly kicked at one of Olivia's shoes. The straw sandal flew across the room, thudding against the antique rosewood wardrobe. He pulled up his pants and yanked the door open, glaring at the person on the other side. "What?" he growled.

Del Douglas leaned into the doorjamb, a naughty smirk lighting up his face. "Sorry, Greg," he drawled, folding his arms against his chest. "You, uh, _busy_?"

"Some."

The terse reply gave Del pause and he angled to see past his friend and into the room. "Oh, I see," he chuckled, eyeing the crumpled silk dress on the floor. "It's the little red head, isn't it?"

"Not quite," Olivia interjected, finishing the last of the buttons on the shirt. She arched her eyebrow, wrapping her arms around Gregory's waist as she pressed against his back. Her chin rested against his shoulder, her eyebrow arched as Del froze. "Now, tell me about this red head."

Gregory smirked, her breath warm against his neck and still full of the heat that consumed her a moment ago. "Did you need something, Del?" he asked coolly as Olivia's bare leg brushed against his own.

A reply croaked in Del's throat as he followed the graceful line of Olivia's leg, the fullness of her calf intriguing him. "I-, uh-" he murmured, having an idea of the activities that he interrupted. Gregory's wrinkled shirt on Olivia's clearly naked body was all the explanation he needed. "Not- not really."

"Then, we'll see you in the morning," Olivia sighed, stepping out from behind Gregory. His hand brushed her bottom as she moved in front of him to close the door. "Good night, Del," she said firmly, ignoring the way his lecherous eyes swept over her. She turned back to Gregory, his hands finding her hips as he pushed her back into the door.

"Now," he whispered, his leg wedging between hers, "where were we?" Her eyes darkened, his hands snaking beneath the shirt.

"Cursing ourselves," she sighed as he gripped her closer.

"There you go again." A hiss died on his lips as her mouth toyed with the side of his neck, teeth brushing flesh. Her hips rose to meet him as he reached for her rear, drawing her in.

"Oh, you know." Her fingers raked through his hair, resting at the nape of his neck. "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding."

He chuckled softly, her lips kissing a line along his jaw. "We don't need to worry about luck, Liv. We've got it all."

She cupped his face, gazing at him with such adoration that all reason left him. "We really do, don't we?" she asked, beaming. He tilted her chin up, drawn to her bruised and eager mouth. She felt him press against her, yet barely noticed the way her back connected with the door. He was her reality, the only thought consuming her mind. Her body hummed with anticipation, his hand sliding between her leg.

The breath caught in her throat, her leg quivering as he lifted it high around his waist. The hours until their garden wedding still seemed to last an eternity. But with her, forever was something he planned on enjoying.

Intimately.


	5. Remember

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 5: "Remember"

I could hear the bed creak as she climbs in, settling herself against the pillows. For all of her claims to the contrary, she is quite content with a routine. Every night sees the hours pass in the same way. She takes an obscenely long shower, polluting the bathroom with her overwhelmingly sickening gardenia-scented bath gel. After, every surface is coated with a slick layer of steam, mist hanging in the air. Then, it's incessant chatter as she slips into her nightgown, one often adorned with ridiculous feathers or cheap fuzzy fur.

With a sigh, I tighten the belt of my robe and step out of the closet. And, there she sat, the crown jewel in the altar of the California king. Dozens of glossy high-fashion magazines littered the bed, the weight of them creating dimples in the plush comforter. It takes me a minute to realize that she's already talking to me, as she gestures enthusiastically to one of her magazines. "Look," she said sitting up and turning the ad so I could see it, "here's the new Versace I was telling you about."

I glance down, barely noticing the very tanned model sporting a slinky dress. She continues chatting away, reaching for another magazine and rifling through it. Her words are relentless, all consuming and never ending. Once, out of sheer amusement, I timed her as she talked non-stop for almost twenty minutes before she stopped for a breath.

Hasn't she realized yet that our conversations are one-sided?

My half of the bed is already turned down, the sheets smooth and cool to the touch. I sink down, the mattress giving familiarly as it welcomes me back. She's talking to my back now and she doesn't care. I take the moment of freedom to close my eyes and let my mind drift. The bed cracks as she shifts and I wonder, not for the first time, if it was wrong to not get a new bed. She never brought it up and I went with it, telling myself that there was nothing wrong with keeping it. It was what I knew.

Who was I kidding? The bed wasn't the real problem. It was the memories that it held, the ones that could reveal themselves without warning. They were a black hole, sucking me in to the point of no return. And I fell through every time, succumbing to the rabbit hole.

But, that will be our little secret.

I ride a wave on the mattress as she kneels up, pressing her chest against my back. Her arms are around my neck, strangling me in quick order. "I want to go to New York," she whines, her breath hot against my ear. "I need a new wardrobe."

My eyes open, a half hearted effort. "What's wrong with the one hanging in your closet?"

She giggles, wrapping her arms even tighter. "So _last_ season," she sighed, her knees digging into my back. "I've got a reputation to maintain."

"How much is this going to cost me?" I mutter, not that the question really mattered. She expected to hear it, just so that she could argue and convince me. My new wife is as predictable as the march of time. You can see her thoughts coming from a mile away.

Surprisingly, her argument is simple. "There's no price on looking fabulous."

Whatever. I sigh, because she expects me to grudgingly give in. "Fine," I finally say as I begin the arduous process of extracting myself from her web.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squeals as I slip off my robe and lie down. Her lips are on mine in less than a second, hungry and desperate.

The weight on me is familiar and, for a moment, I give in. She quickens against me when I respond and one of her legs finds its way between mine. Something stirs in me and I pull her flush against me as we share air. Her hands run down my chest, toying with the waist of my pants. She tastes like the Cabernet we had at dinner and that's when I remember: Olivia doesn't like red.

"You. Are. The. Best," Annie gasped, in between nibbling at my lips. I pull back, my head clearing as I push her away. She cried out in indignation, breathing heavily as she looked back at me with blazing eyes. "What?"

I shake my head, finding my throat tight. She glares as I finally breathe out, past the painful rock that was lodged. "I'm not in the mood."

Her eyes narrow, disappearing into the thick coal makeup lining them. "Of course, you are," she whispers, low and seductive.

She reaches out and I catch her hand in mid-air. "Not tonight," I snap before flinging her hand away. I turn over, ignoring the protest that she mutters beneath her breath. My heart slows in my chest, heavy with longing as I close my eyes.

After a moment, she lays beside me and presses against my back. No doubt, she's weighed her options and would rather go without sex than a shopping extravaganza on 5th Avenue. "Fine," she sighs and I wince at the underlying pout in her voice. "I'm tired too," she whispers, reaching back to turn off the bedside lamp.

For a moment, darkness fills the room and I revel in it, imagining that the arm around my waist was _hers_. But, it's _Annie's_ breath against my neck and _Annie's_ acrylics raking over my chest. A mournful sigh dances on my lips as moonlight falls in through the window. Shadows grow in the quiet, swelling to fill the silence. She must sense it because after a moment, she says, "We're not close."

I lie still, the rise and fall of my chest is the only movement from my side of the bed. As the minutes pass with no reply, her fingers still and she leans up slightly. "Gregory?"

"What?" My question slices through the dark, topped off with a hint of irritation. Whether or not she detects the sentiment, she barely flinches. She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs deeply, like she's wrestling with some grave matter.

Instead, she drops a nuclear bomb.

"Do you think we should have a baby?"

In the aftermath of particularly vicious argument, I once asked Olivia why she drank. Why she sent herself into a vodka fueled oblivion? The unasked question, of course, was what did she get from the alcohol that she couldn't get from me? But like so many things between us, it fell into the wayside of tortured silence. Instead, I waited patiently while she looked up slowly, her blue eyes cloudy with hangover. She spoke, almost poetically, about the moment when, after drinking herself practically blind, she separated from herself. When she stepped outside of her body and existed in a haze that allowed her to feel nothing. I had no idea what she meant.

Until now.

A dull hum consumed me as my body slipped into atrophy. Her touch burned through me, turning my heart to lead. Her question rang in my ears like church bells, echoing in the maddening silence. My vision danced as her question grew louder, growing from the recesses of my mind.

_Do you think we should have a baby?_

The last time I had heard this question, it had been a quiet summer morning. I had been there, the bed had been there. The only difference was that it had been _Olivia_ on the asking end, _Olivia's_ arm wrapped around my side.

_We laid face to face and chest to chest, our arms binding us together. The sunlight fell through the window, catching on her radiant face. She looked up at me, hope burning her sapphire eyes even brighter than normal. _

"_What?" I asked, not sure that my ears were working properly._

"_A baby," she giggled, her eyes wide to assure me that I had heard correctly. She inched closer to me, near enough to place a soft kiss on my chin._

"_Yours and mine?"_

"_I was hoping it could be yours," she replied dryly, though her deadpan humor gave way to a beam. She sighed and pressed herself into my chest, hugging me to her heart's content. "But, I suppose I could ask Del…"_

_She was on her back and I stared down at her before she could catch her breath. When she did, she glanced up at me with a satisfied smirk. She wriggled beneath me, her eyebrow arched. I parted her legs with my knee and lowered my face to within an inch of hers. Our lips brushed together as her arms wrapped around my back. "You were saying?" I asked, feasting on the fullness of her bottom lip._

_Her lazy sigh filled the momentary silence, drowning out the rustle of the silk sheets. "I want a baby," she whispered, honest truth radiating from her soul as I nibbled my way down her neck. "Your baby."_

Thinking of Olivia's question delivers me from the fog of Annie's. I turn to her slowly, my eyes narrow. "Are you drunk?" I ask meanly. She scrambles up, hearing the deadly anger in my voice. "You have to be," I continue, pushing myself up, "otherwise there is no way that you would ask me that."

"Gregory-"

I glare down at her as she hid in the shadows, shrinking away from me. "There is no way that I would ever even _consider_ having a child with you." With a snap of the sheets, I turn back on my side and take my anger out on the innocent pillow. When it was beaten into submission, I lay down again and as Annie jumped from the bed. I listen to her stalk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Leaving me in the silence of the bedroom, with the bed and its memories.

* * *

The silence was slowly driving me crazy.

I stood quickly, turning back into the hotel room. The elaborate stereo system sat in the corner, intimidating with a ridiculous amount of buttons and knobs. I fiddled with all of them, pressing and turning until the crackly static gave way to the sultry sounds of a late-night jazz hour.

The vast suite seems slightly less lonely, though there's an undeniable chill that I just can't shake. Like the silence, it is quickly rectified. I pull a thick sweater from the closet and slip it on over the silk of my robe and nightgown. The heavy material hangs from my thin frame and I tug it closed, folding my arms over the seam. _He_ found it amusing when I was cold, using the opportunity to pull me against his warm chest. I think he was oddly fascinated by the counter point of wool on silk, not that I stayed in either for very long.

The hem of the nightgown dances around my feet as I wander across the room, drawn to the balcony despite the shiver that goes through me. Years and years ago, I left cold and dreary England for the warmth and sun of California. Now, it's as if the English weather had come to claim what was rightfully hers. I sigh and turn from the open doorway, wincing at the nip in the air.

Moonlight bathes the room and I sit in the high-backed armchair, tucking my feet into the warmth beneath my nightgown. I lean back, succumbing to the unobstructed view of the moon and the company of the music. However, unease eats away at my soul, chipping away at the careful wall I have up during the day. At night, my well of reserve crumbles in the face of an empty hotel room and the silence of an unforgiving night.

Still, I carried on, submitting to the torture each and every evening. What other choice was there? Where was I to go? Who else would have me but the cruel night hours? No one else so actively demanded my time but the night. There was no escaping it. The moon, as the song went, was a harsh mistress.

I sigh, drawing my knees to my chest and folding my hands on top. The diamond caught the silver light, sparkling brilliantly. No one but the moon was allowed to see this, this ridiculous spectacle that I put myself through nightly. Who else would understand? Caitlin would frown, Sean would roll his eyes, Bette would worry and AJ would be hurt.

Would Gregory mock me? Or would he find it endearing, as he found all my eccentricities? Once upon a time, I thought I knew him. Now, I'm not so sure.

Ice drips down the curve of my spine, but it's not the cold this time. It's the ring. My engagement ring. I shivered the first time I saw it and I shiver every night when I put it on. No one else would know of the hours I obsessively count during the day until I could put it on again. Or of the ache I feel each morning when I pull it from my finger and return it to the cold dark jewelry box.

If I'm an addict, I've traded the alcohol for my ring.

My head falls to one side as I watch the flawless diamond. It meets the moon, rewarding me with a brilliant light show. I stare, mystified and drawn in even deeper. Time ceases to exist, the minutes grinding to a stop. The stone flickers like a movie screen, scenes of someone else's life flashing before my eyes. It was a wonderful life, wasn't it?

"Yes," I say, the whisper rising in my throat. I close my eyes and sigh, caught between the memory of yesterday and the reality of today. A pain fills me, expanding beyond the capacity of my chest. The regret was no easier to deal with today than it was the moment he signed the divorce papers and shoved them at me.

Not that there was anyone to blame but myself.

But that had been our whole problem, hadn't it? Reacting first, often with anger, before thinking. We were fueled with passion, passion for each other and the passion of a rip-your-heart-out argument. And, oh, how our fights were legendary. Yet, even in those moments when we were at our worst, there was no denying the electricity between us.

A familiar piano drifts out of the speakers, causing me to look up slowly. The music glides over me like silk, swaddling me in its embrace. I can never listen to this without thinking of him and the way he looked at me in the beginning when we were so very good. Or of the moment when the puzzle pieces fit together and I knew that he would be my love for the rest of my life.

It was winter in New York City. I had never seen the Christmas lights on 5th Avenue and he, perhaps inspired by my desire to go, professed to be nostalgic for his home town. He always seemed like a man of New York, even before I found out that's where he was from. The hunger in his eyes and the richness of his life…he was everything I ever thought of the city come to life.

_On our last night, I walked through the hotel suite, following the sound of music and the scent of his cologne. It took me to the living room, where I found him standing in front of the windows. Breath caught in my throat as he turned slowly, the famed skyline as his backdrop. I forced a shaky smile and put my hand against the marble column for support as my knees turned to jelly. "I'm ready," I whispered. _

"_Come here first," he said softly, holding out his hand._

_Doesn't he know that I can't trust my legs to make the distance? Doesn't he know that if I take a step, I'll surely stumble? He smiled, waiting patiently with his hand extended. I forced myself to move, my heels clicking on the gleaming wood floor. When I reached him, my hand slipped into his, enfolding me. _

_I couldn't take my eyes off him as he drew me in. His face was slightly flushed from the warmth of the suite and the bottle of wine we shared before we parted to get dressed. His smile warmed my soul and, I swear, my heart skipped a beat. He pulled me against him, cheek to cheek, as we began to sway. "I've been waiting to dance with you like this since we got here," he whispered in my ear._

_I looked up slowly, the beat of my heart thundering in my ears as I met his eyes. "Have you?" I asked softly, hoping that he doesn't hear the way my voice trembled. He nodded solemnly, never taking his eyes from me. I rested my hand on his chest, feeling the resounding thump of his heartbeat. I'm drawn into it, like moth to flame, as we dance slowly. _

_With a sigh, I leaned my head against him, tucking it into the hollow beneath his chin. He made no sound and I couldn't see him, but in that moment, I know he smiled. The velvet strains of the ballad filled me, the haunting cry of the trumpet bringing tears to my eyes. When the story of my life is written, this will surely be the chapter that I'll reread over and over._

A hot tear rolls down my face as I succumb to the mournful trumpet. The music takes on a new meaning, from the romance of my youth to the grief as a divorcée. There would be no happy ending, no rainbow after the storm.

Only a brief memory of the way things once were.


	6. Overture

_**NOTE: This is the final chapter of this story. As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing!**_

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 6: "Overture"

The door creaked open, disturbing the silence of the master bedroom with noise from the party downstairs. The thumping music reverberated in Olivia's chest, consuming her. She slammed the door behind her and collapsed against the thick wood, her hands clasped to her chest. Her breath came fast, her throat working as her eyes danced wildly around Bette's room. A mountain of coats and handbags were piled on the bed, obscuring the jungle print bedspread.

She squeezed her eyes shut and surrendered to the silence. Her legs trembled, her muscles quickening to jelly and she gripped the doorknob for support. She gasped, her blood running cold as an angry voice shouted from the dark corner of her mind: HE DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE YOU!

Olivia's eyes flew open, her hands cupping her flaming cheeks. Her chest tightened, swelling to a painful wave as a tortured sigh escaped her lips. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!" she muttered, filled with disgust. She stomped her foot, causing the delicate heel of the Italian shoes to promptly snap. "Oh, damn!"

She bent down, cradling the broken shoe in her hand like it was a wounded bird. The ridiculously high price of the shoes echoed in her mind and her eyes narrowed as she hurled it across the room. It flew out the open balcony doors and she saw it, suspended briefly in the silver moonlight, before it fell into the night. She kicked her other shoe off, not caring to note where it landed, as she stalked around the room.

"You have done some stupid things before, Olivia Blake, but this absolutely beats all!" she hissed to herself, her fist blindly striking the side of her thigh. "How on God's green Earth did you ever convince yourself that you could _possibly_ get Gregory Richards to notice you?"

She fell into the bureau, barely flinching as her hip painfully jutted against the edge. She looked down, ruefully shaking her head at the expensive dress. Her head hung, recalling the way she brimmed with anticipation as she dressed for tonight. The delicate folds of material clung to her body, creating just the look she needed to catch Gregory's eye. Or so she thought.

With another sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest and reveled in her own pity. The whole evening had imploded in a single moment, all of her carefully laid plans going to the wind. She knew he would be there. No one turned down an invitation to one of Bette's parties, especially one that she threw in celebration of her recent divorce.

_The music was blaring, liquor flowing freely when she followed Del into the home at the start of the party. A filmy veil of cigar smoke made her blink rapidly, Del's breath hot against her neck as he pulled her closer to him. Looking through crowded, dark living room, she had already noticed what he was shouting over the music: Gregory hadn't arrived yet. She took the glass of champagne that he pressed into her hand, content to wait as she fluffed her hair. _

_With a small turn, Olivia eyed the room from corner to corner, raising the crystal flute to her lips. As she rotated back around, she saw a tiny blonde walk in the front door. She looked past her, already turning away with disinterest, when she saw who was on the blonde's arm. Time slowed to a frozen heartbeat, her fingers tightening around the glass as Gregory flashed his date a small smile and glanced up. She stood, heartbroken as she felt his eyes move over her, barely pausing. Instead, she watched as he and his date crossed the room to commence their court in the corner by the patio. People would gravitate to Gregory in no time. They always did. _

_She downed her champagne, the sweet liquid going right to her head as she passed Del her empty glass. "I think I'm going to need something stronger," she said into this ear, not caring whether or not he heard her over the cacophony. _

"_Huh?" he shouted back, leaning close. She rolled her eyes as he looked past her, a grin lighting up his face. "Hey, doll - show time! Prince Gregory has arrived!" as he began pushing through the crowd._

_Olivia struggled against him, trying in vain to pry his iron grip from her wrist. "No! Del, stop!" But the loud music and boisterous crowd swallowed her plea. _

_From across the room, the distance between herself and Gregory decreased until she was forcefully presented to him. "Greg!" she heard Del exclaim, unable to rip her eyes from his face. His chiseled expression broke long enough for a smile, leaning in to listen to Del before he looked up at her. "-Bette's friend, Olivia."_

_Their eyes met, brown on blue for a long moment before Gregory nodded. "I've seen you around with AJ Deschanel."_

_She nodded lamely, feeling the flush of disappointment sweep up from her neck as the little blonde put her arm around Gregory's waist. She looked pointedly at Olivia, marking her territory as Gregory turned back to Del._

Olivia groaned and covered her face with her hands. And now, everything was blown to Hell! Everything she had done these past months, in the name of Gregory, was in vain. Months of work, over and done with in an instant. Her hands fell slowly from her face, the threat of tears burning her blue eyes. Now, there would be nothing to console her when that night on the maternity floor of the hospital came back to haunt her. Del's unholy plan, her reluctant agreement and Elaine's devastated cry. Gregory was her salvation, the mantra that she whispered to herself to keep the demons at bay. What kept her going during the nights when her own self-hatred brimmed to the surface, threatening her very sanity.

Suddenly, the door banged open, music from downstairs spilling in. She whirled around, her eyes blazing until she saw who stood in the doorway. "Oh," she gasped, the breath dying in her throat.

Gregory's smile was tinged with confusion, his head titled slightly as he stepped into the room. He closed the door softly, turning back to her with an intense gaze that nearly took her breath away. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

She nodded, leaning back and gripping the edge of the bureau for support. She watched, fascinated, as he slowly ambled around the king-sized bed. "I hope I didn't startle you."

"Startle me?"

"With the door?" Gregory knocked his head back and shrugged. "It was stuck, like someone closed it too hard."

"Oh." Olivia looked down, cringing at her bare feet before she forced herself to meet his eyes. "The wind must have blown it shut," she stammered, gesturing to the open balcony doors.

"Maybe," he said simply, turning back to the bed. "Regardless, I was asked to come up and fetch a black silk bolero." He met her eyes for a long moment, smiling infectiously. "Whatever the hell that is."

She grinned, matching his as she stepped closer to him. "Shame on you," she chided as she leaned over the bed and began sorting through the pile, "for not being up on the latest fashions."

"Well, it was either that or law." She looked up, her eyes mere inches from his as their hands brushed together. "I chose law," he whispered, taking her hand in his and rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. Her lips parted, watching as he considered her thin wrist for a long moment. "So, first AJ Deschanel, now Del." He looked up, an amused grin lighting up his eyes. "You're in demand."

The embarrassed giggle of a little girl rose in her throat as a nervous feeling fluttered in her stomach. She shrugged as she whispered, "I'm not, not really."

"Ah, so the lovely English girl is modest, in addition to being mysterious?" Her hand twitched, causing him to tighten his grip. He chuckled to himself, watching as the color drained from her face. "Do I make you nervous?" he asked.

She cocked her head, seeing the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Why would you think that?" she countered, lifting one leg to kneel against the bed. The hem of her dress rose, flirting with her kneecap.

Gregory narrowed his eyes, watching her in thought for a long moment. "No, it's not nerves." He watched with seeming fascination as she dug through the pile of coats with one hand, searching for the one he sought. "It's something else."

"Like what?" Olivia glanced up suddenly, interested. Had he been thinking about her before tonight? By now, the feeling of his hand around hers was comfortable and she surrendered to it, staring him down.

He grinned, pulling her hand to him. "So, you've got some fight in you too."

"I might," she smirked, pulling her hand back. With both hands free, she made quick work of the coats, finally pulling free the one he came for. "I believe you ordered the silk bolero." When he reached for it, she jerked it away and held it just beyond his grasp. "You were saying that it wasn't nerves?"

"So I was." With a speed that surprised her, he grabbed the silk jacket and tossed it aside. In an instant, she was in his arms, her chest pressed flat against his. His lips hovered above hers, his breath warm and rich with the faint scent of a single-malt scotch. "You've been dancing around me for months," he whispered, "yet always just beyond my reach."

She bit her lip, her body humming with the anticipation she thought was lost. His hands followed the curve of her spine to rest in the shallow dip of her back. Her breath caught in her throat as a warm feeling ebbed through her. "I seem to be quite within your reach now."

Gregory sent her a crooked smile, his eyes warm as they met hers. "Definitely not nerves," he concluded softly, his eyes moving over her face. "Just seemingly…unattainable. Like the oasis mirage in the middle of a barren desert."

She licked her lips, her mind racing. Could he hear her heart thundering in her chest? Was this her chance? Her _only_ chance? Sink or swim. With a quick inhale to cover her fear, she leaned in and let her lips brush his as she whispered with more confidence than she felt: "If you're thirsty, take a sip."

He chuckled against her mouth, the taste of her nearly on the tip of his tongue. She reached up, pressing her palms flat against his chest as she moved her head, his lips just missing hers. He tried again, only to have her shift her face in the opposite direction. With a sigh that barely managed to cover his frustrated groan, he nuzzled his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. "Still beyond my reach," he whispered, bringing a smile to her face.

"From what I saw downstairs, a little blonde was currently occupying your reach."

He looked up, his gaze bearing into her as he reached to cup her face with both hands. "Well." He leaned in and she closed her eyes, her lips parted expectantly. Instead, she was surprised when he held her gently and placed the softest of kisses on her forehead. "Not for long."

She opened her eyes slowly, a small smile curling her untouched lips as his hands fell to her shoulders. A new feeling began to grow in the pit of her stomach, replacing the anxiety of moments ago. It was the sweet comfort of victory. She sighed, arching one shoulder so that her lips could graze the hand resting on it. "Does she know that?"

Gregory shrugged, disinterested. "She'll figure it out, sooner or later. Though…" He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, lingering on her lobe for a moment. "Hopefully sooner than later."

"I should hope so," she whispered, reluctantly slipping from his embrace and turning away. Her head spun and her heart thundered, sheer nerves driving her on. "As you said, I'm in demand. Why don't you find me when she does figure it out?"

His lips twitched as he fought the urge to grin. She sucked in her breath and turned back, surrendering to the dizzy pull of his gaze. Her fingers twitched nervously and she concentrated on the fine line of his jaw, looking anywhere but into his intoxicating eyes. "What if I can't find you?" he asked, feigning innocence.

With a coy smirk, Olivia walked away from him, lingering just long enough for him to wonder about the sway of her hips. She reached for the door and pulled it open, resisting the urge to skip back to what she knew would be his passionate embrace. But that would be too easy. Months of studiously avoiding him until now had paid off. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder, watching the unbridled fascination sweep across his face as she replied, "Something tells me you'll manage."

"And when I do," he called out as she turned to leave, "you'll tell me all about why you aren't wearing any shoes tonight?"

She turned back slowly, a mysterious look glowing in her eyes as her bare toes curled. "Maybe," she said sweetly, struggling to keep the delirious excitement from her voice. "Then again, maybe not."

Then, before he utterly decimated her remaining willpower, she assumed a confident stride and left the bedroom. She pressed her hands to her cheeks and breathed deeply, her mind reeling. The anxiety of earlier fell to the wayside, replaced with the bubbly knowledge that he would find her.

And, like he said, sooner rather than later.

THE END


End file.
